Mount Massive Academy
by Fallen-Gabriel
Summary: Waylon just wanted to survive High School, that's all, and maybe ask his crush out on a date...But the Class Psycho seems to have other plans...


Chapter 1 – Unlucky

The summer had ended, leaving Waylon Park stranded in Colorado at a new school, and with no friends. He sighed, stepping out of his car, and mentally cursed. It wasn't exactly a great impression to show up at a new place with a brand new Mercedes his dad had insisted on buying him. Since Mr. Gary Park (his father) had gotten this promotion, he'd been looking for a way to make it up him, since Michigan had been his entire life up until this point, and this is what he came up with.

If a new car with radio, an awesome stereo, and Bluetooth didn't scream: 'pretentious' he didn't know what did… His family had always been upper-middle class, sure, but they'd never outright flaunted it. Waylon guessed this was as good a time as any, but why him?! He hadn't even wanted a new car, he'd have been fine with a clunker that would get him from point A to B, but no – they just had to get him this!

_Now I really sound spoiled…_

The first thing he'd done when he moved was look for a job – especially after receiving the car – and had found it at a local convenient store. He'd met several kids his age, or close, and already knew that this place might end up being harsh. But who knew, maybe he'd meet some nice people?

He stepped onto the wide, winding sidewalk, and started walking. Oaks scattered across the school's courtyard, a bell with benches around it in the center, and a grand staircase leading into the school. He stopped under the shade of a tree, looking around, and his eyes widened. He caught the gaze of a girl, her skin pale, and brown hair waving in the breeze. She pushed some of it behind her ear with a dainty hand, making him gulp, and someone just had to crash into him at that moment.

He knew her, he'd seen her at the store a few times with some friends…Her name was Lisa.

_Shit!_

Waylon scrambled to pick up his books, the summer sun beating on the back of his neck, and flushed when he saw a dainty hand start collecting the brand new composition books. "You don't have to do that! I can manage on my own, not that I don't want your help, but you really don't have to!" He waved at her, dropping the volumes he'd already recollected, and the brunet just smiled at him, her long, curly tresses just past her shoulders.

"Its fine, I don't mind, really." She bent down on her knees, and he gulped, quickly lowering his eyes to scoop up the scratched surface of a notebook. Their hands grazed one another and his eyes widened, heart jumping in his throat as it skipped a beat, and he felt his tongue dry out in his skull. Waylon fell back, his face burning, and Lisa blinked, shocked at his reaction. She giggled, making him woozy with embarrassment at himself, half afraid he would fall unconscious, and paralyzed at how beautiful she was. "Try not to fall again, okay?" Lisa stood once she'd put them all in a neat stack, handing them back to him, and he extended his hand slowly, as to make sure he didn't accidently touch her again.

_Get a hold of yourself, there's no way she'd go for a guy like you! She could do so much better…_

"Yeah, sorry, I'm just…Kinda clumsy." He shoved them into his bag, rubbing the back of his neck, and she smiled.

"Take care." She waved to him as one of her friends called her over, and she half jogged, half walked over to her with a spring in her step. He watched her go like the love sick moron he was, waving back even after she'd turned.

"He's in love." Waylon jumped at the monotone voice that seemed to materialize behind him, sweat traveling down the side of his face as he turned to look, and gulped.

_How did I not hear this guy?!_ He mentally screamed.

It was a bald guy, huge, with broad shoulders, and a sharp angled face. His eyes were a bright green, slightly narrowed, but not menacingly, more calculating. He wore a dark grey t-shirt that hugged his abdomen, stretched across muscles that made the computer nerd jealous, tucked into a brown belt that held up dark jeans. His converse sneakers screamed athlete if his build didn't already, wrist bands lazily strewn up his arm, a skull with a cross in its teeth plastered across his wide left bicep.

"I believe so as well." There was another one, next to him, but he had a mop of dark brown hair on his head, spiked in no particular fashion. Although slightly shorter, he was no less built, sharing the bulky muscle with his brother. No, Waylon realized, twin… They were twins. But the one with hair wore a black tank top, and white cargo shorts. He wore Nike in place of converse, but his eyes were the same startling shade of green. This one had no wrist bands, but he had several loops in the cartilage of his right ear, and one in his left. He also had a tattoo of a crow with a cross in its beak on his right bicep.

"No sarcasm this time? Fascinating…"

"Are our roles reversed today? I was unaware." The haired one replied, eyeing his brother, but there was no hint of amusement on his face, despite the exchange.

"I thought you said you guys were going to stop fighting today?" Another boy appeared, with short blonde hair, and wide, bright blue eyes. Waylon blinked, forgetting the twins odd form of conversation in favor of…Well, outright staring at this boy.

He looked young, freshmen young, but he knew he was at least a sophomore. His hair was combed back, skin pale, and lean of build like him. But those eyes! They were beautiful, and innocent, almost like a child. He saw Waylon and the two sky colored orbs started to expand. "Oh…" He seemed to sink behind the 'Twin Towers', clutching his right arm, which held two composition notebooks. "Hi…" He wore simple jeans, with slightly dirty cleats, and a black shirt with the Batman logo imprinted on it in yellow.

"Hi…" Waylon held up a hand, as if to wave. "I'm Waylon." He extended his hand, and the boy gazed at it, before slowly stepping forward to take it. The computer nerd immediately noticed how the two behind him tensed, their arms bulging a little. His fingers felt small, the knuckles warm, and the skin soft, rather a lot like a girl's hand.

"My name is William, William Hope…Oh, but, people call me Billy for short!" The shake was brief, the younger instantly withdrawing to clutch his books to his chest. Waylon blinked, nodding, and wearily eyed the two behind him. "And these are my friends…" He gestured back to the colossal teens, "the bald one is Gregory and the one with hair is Aden." They grunted in unison.

"We should be going." Gregory said, his arms crossed, but it sounded a little like a growl to Waylon.

"We still have to pick up our schedules." Aden finished, his eyes narrowing slowly on him, but this wasn't a calculating stare, this was full on aggression.

"Oh, yeah, that's right!" Billy looked over his shoulder at them, too innocent to see the look in the haired twin's eyes. "See you!" He waved to Waylon as he jogged by, the two behind him quick to follow on either side of him, Gregory slamming into his shoulder as he took off.

He jerked, body flying through the air, and he had just those few precious seconds to realize that the other had jammed his elbow into this gut when he took off. His book bag went flying, and his books tumbled all over the dew covered grass. His impact with the earth jarred his senses, sending him tumbling. Waylon couldn't stop the yelp that tore itself from his throat, head throbbing when it collided with a root, and ankle hurting from where his damn sneaker had been caught, jerking it.

He laid there for a second, face down in the grass, and bit back the tears.

"Nice fall pansy ass!" His eyes widened at that voice, sniffling as he pushed himself up with his hands, and rolled over onto his rump. His black hoodie was stained with dirt, his jeans had grass stains, his old sneakers that he'd had for years were torn (the heel on the right one almost completely off), and the only thing unscathed was his dark green t-shirt. He carded his fingers through his reddish brown hair, green eyes finding Jeremy Blaire on the side walk he'd just been on.

The pretty boy basketball player was wearing the latest trends as usual, in a designer black shirt, with jeans, boots, and his jersey thrown over his shoulder. He laughed, his black eyes glinting with malice and malevolence, and spat in the computer nerd's direction. It didn't reach, but Waylon guessed that it was the thought that counted. He slowly stood, ignoring the bastard, and started scooping up his stuff…again. His chin hurt and he realized that some of the hairs of his short goatee had probably been ripped out when his jaw had hit the earth. Waylon frowned, eyes narrowed, and reached for his math book.

He stopped short when another hand appeared, pale, and wearing a fingerless glove. His eyes widened, following the hand up to a pale wrist, a strong forearm, stronger bicep, a broad shoulder, thick neck, and then… Waylon gulped.

This guy was as tall as Aden. His eyes were a dazzling blue, with oddly styled black hair, and chiseled features. He was wearing a button up white shirt that was un-tucked, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black jeans, thick boots that were shiny like dress shoes, and a black vest with simple silver lining. This guy could easily turn heads, probably way more than Jeremy could ever hope to, and his smile…

It curled his features, moving in tandem with his face, and Waylon had no doubt that he made girls swoon and drop. "Calculus?" His deep voice sounded like a man's, with a suave edge, caressing every syllable, but still leaving no breath wasted. "You're pretty smart…" He had a slight lisp, but it only seemed to add to the atmosphere around him.

"Waylon…" He immediately stood; almost all his books in his bag except the one this stranger held.

"Waylon…" He shivered when he said his name, goose bumps rising on the back of his neck, and he gulped again. It was like he was reciting a prayer, blue eyes half lidded and twinkling with something the computer tech couldn't identify. His smile never faltered, still holding the book in his grasp, and Waylon was briefly stunned when he felt something against his cheek. It was his hand, he was touching his face, the calloused digit trailing across his cheek bone, and he faltered a little. His palm was warm, cupping his cheek, and his worn thumb grazed his lips, shocking him back to reality. He immediately jumped back, eyes wide.

"What are you doing?!" He gasped, shoulders squaring.

"You have amazing bone structure." The man replied, nonchalant, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. Waylon was too stunned for words, his eye twitching, and mouth hard pressed to turn into a frown.

"Uhm…Thank…you?" He wasn't exactly sure **how** to reply to that statement. It was so out of the blue and just **weird**…

_What is up with this guy? He's freaking me out…_

Waylon gulped, hearing the bell, and snatched his book back with speed he didn't know he had. "Sorry, I've gotta go!" He lurched back, running for the steps, and barely glanced back…

W-E

"There's something wrong with him."

"Indeed."

"Should we leave?"

"Probably."

"We will be cut from the team."

"Walker will harass us."

"Perhaps try to involve us in a physical altercation."

"That's highly probably."

"To Chris or to Creepy?"

"It **is** a dilemma."

Waylon wasn't sure whether to laugh or whimper when he realized that the twins – Gregory and Aden – had chosen the two seats directly behind him in Chemistry class. It was bad enough that the teacher was apparently a nut job (his plaque read: Dr. R. Trager), but now he had the guy who had basically flung him like a ragdoll breathing down his neck. Although they seemed awfully calm now…

Although Gregory had been the one to start the conversation, it ended with Aden, and Waylon wondered if they always finished each other's sentences. It was like they shared one mind or had some form of telepathy.

_It'd be funny if they actually had some sort of __**emotion**__ when talking…_

Waylon rested his chin on his hand, elbow on the table, and gazed ahead. He figured it was best to keep a low profile, just try to survive the last two years of high school… He jumped when someone sat next to him.

"Hi, you must be the new kid." He turned, blinking, and was met with two brown, green-tinged eyes. This guy had wild, short brown hair, and a handsome face. He was lean with a runner's muscled build, his white shirt hugging his sides, with a red wool jacket over that, with the sleeves rolled up, and jeans. His sneakers were new, and there was a small notepad with a pen shoved into his pocket. "My name is Miles Upshur, nice to meet you." He extended a hand and Waylon took it, giving a small smile.

He threw down a small grey knapsack on the floor, leaning back in his chair, with his hands behind his head. "So, you moved in, what? Two months ago?" Waylon blinked.

"How did you know that?"

_Please don't be another weirdo…_

Miles laughed, a cheerful noise that lit up the green in his eyes. "I don't mean to sound like some stalker, but I'm part of the school paper, I gather info on everything and everybody!"

"Oh…Yeah, I moved in two months ago." He wasn't sure he could trust him; something about reporters had always ticked Waylon off, especially in movies. They just seemed too nosy. But this guy didn't seem so bad.

"Nice…" Miles nodded, closing his eyes, pushing his chair onto its back two legs, and rocked it.

"Excuse me…" A polite, suave voice cut the air, making Waylon freeze. His wide green eyes found those crystal blue ones, the glinting orbs seeming to light on him, before they shifted, moving to Miles. "Do you mind trading seats with me?" The computer tech turned a fearful gaze on the boy beside him.

_Please, please, please…_

The reporter-to-be opened his eyes, stopped his rocking, and dropped his chair onto all fours again. He laid his hands on the table, looking the tall boy in the eye, and Waylon saw his face fall serious. "You know, actually…" He glanced at him, smirking, before turning back to the weirdo. "I do."

The computer tech would have breathed a sigh of relief if the tall boy's face hadn't…warped. It morphed into an ugly snarl and his blue eyes seemed to glow, the leather of his glove twisting harshly in his ears. He gulped, leaning back in his chair, but Miles didn't seem the least bit worried. Waylon looked around, noticing that everyone had gone silent, staring at the two boys. "There's a seat…" Upshur practically grinned, jerking his head back, highlighting a table, right next to the twin's. "Right back there, it's got your name all over it."

The handsome boy's face was still angry, that snarl making him so menacing that Waylon was cringing, and he wasn't even the target. He opened his mouth, but the bell rang, long and screeching. The teacher entered, his long dark hair pulled back into a pony tail, and his glasses sat on the end of his nose.

"Take a seat and get out your books kiddos!" Trager called, turning around to jot something down on the Smart Board. He glanced back, just a glance, and called out. "You too psycho!" The boy whipped around, his ire on a new target, but most of his animosity still seemed pin pointed on Miles. He turned, his azure eyes dark and cruel, as if he was planning on disemboweling the boy next to Waylon, and was doing it strategically with his mind… He headed back to the seat. Miles had the gall to smile and toss him a 'friendly', mocking wave.

Waylon half turned, reaching for his bag, and stopped… He raised his eyes, Gregory's gaze boring into his. He drew back, frightened, and lowered his eyes quickly to grab his book, and turn back around. Miles noticed this, ripping out a sheet of paper and jotted something down. He shoved it at Waylon.

**_Jeez, what'd you do to piss _**_them_**_off?_**

Waylon paused, waiting on Trager to turn back around before replying.

**_I don't know, I was just talking to them and this boy named Billy this morning…_**

Miles replied quickly, shaking his head.

**_Bad idea man, Billy is like their pet._**

Waylon frowned.

**_Their pet?_**

Miles and he simultaneously turned to the page the teacher requested, half-assed keeping up with what he was saying.

**_Rumor has it that they 'share' him… Billy is a really quiet kid, keeps to himself, and they're like his protectors. Nobody knows why, but they took an interest in him when he was a freshman, and keep him close outside of class, at lunch, out of school… If he talked to you that makes you a threat._**

Waylon's brow furrowed.

**'_Share' him? A threat?_**

Miles made an 'o' with the fingers of his left hand, and put a finger from his other hand through it. The computer tech's eyes widened and the reporter grinned, taking the paper to scrawl something else.

**_That aside, what'd you do to get Gluskin's attention?_**

Waylon frowned, pausing to re-read the sentence, and glanced back at the weirdo in the back row. He was staring at him, his deep blue depths endless, and dark. Unlike Miles, who he'd probably killed three times in his head (if not more), he looked at Waylon with pure, unfiltered…adoration?

He'd seen people look at their pets, their **dogs** like he was, but never at another person. He seemed to break a little from his trance when their eyes met, so he smiled, warm, and without teeth. He gave a little wave and Waylon felt a shiver work up his spine. He immediately turned around.

**_That's his name?_**

Waylon jotted down some notes while Miles replied.

**_Yep, Eddie Gluskin, The Class of 2013s own personal sociopath._**

Waylon's eyes widened, finding Miles's gaze, and the reporter nodded.

**_Sociopath?_**

If they'd been talking out loud, he knew he would have stuttered.

**_Yeah, Eddie once broke all this kids fingers back in junior high for making fun of him, because he likes to sew. Then, one time, in freshman year he turned on a burner in culinary class, didn't tell one of his partners – poor bastard made the mistake of calling him a 'fag' – and when he touched it they said Gluskin held his hand there. They never had any proof because there was no security footage, and so many people were scared to tell, so he walked out. He's done other stuff too, guys a total nut job…_**

Waylon visibly shuddered, forcing his eyes to keep straight ahead, even though he could **feel** Eddie's eyes on him.

**_What does he want with me?_**

The reporter shrugged, but replied.

**_I don't know, but I can honestly say, you have the worst luck man. The worst._**

"You and Park wanna share your thoughts with the class, Upshur?" Dr. Trager asked, raising a brow, with his arms crossed at the head of the room. He stood before the smart board, behind his desk, and leaned back on it. Waylon felt his ears burn when everyone looked at him, quickly averting his eyes to his book, suddenly very interested in paying attention. Miles on the other hand…

"We're just talking about your amazingly fine ass Doc." The class erupted in a series of chuckles, and Waylon's horrified face turned on his partner, who was grinning like a bloody maniac.

Dr. Trager, to his credit, smirked, his angular face revealing sharp canines. "See me after class Upshur."

The class erupted in a chorus of 'ohs' and the computer tech covered his face in his hands. Miles bit his bottom lip, wiggling in his chair, and grinned.

"I'm looking forward to it, **Doctor** Trager."

M-T

"Do you mind if I sit here?" A quiet voice brought Waylon out of his absent stare at the wall, and he turned to see –

"Oh, no, I don't mind at all!" He smiled, moving his bag so the sophomore, Billy Hope, could sit next to him.

_Art class, second period suddenly turned into hell… What am I supposed to do?! The twins think I'm a threat just because he talks to me! But, if I'm mean to him, will it be worse? Not that I could be even if I tried, something tells me seeing him cry is the most heartbreaking thing in the world!_

The computer tech twiddled his thumbs under the table, looking around the mural covered walls for something to distract himself with. The right wall was covered in a large black tree, with a noose hanging from it…

_That's rather…morbid._

It was wonderfully done but it reminded him of that tree from _Sleepy Hollow_, and he half expected the Christopher Walken Headless Horseman who never said anything but "argh," like a pirate, to pop out of the twisted maze of roots. The front wall with the board was also black, but this was a storm over a dark plane. The left wall was a twisted path through a misty forest. The back wall behind them was a rain forest at night, with Titanoboa staring right at him.

_I just picked the worst seat ever, didn't I? Goddamnit…_

"You're…Waylon, right?" Billy smiled at him, all warmth and sunshine, completely bellying the room they were in.

"Uh…Yeah…And you're Billy." The boy blushed, as if not expecting him to actually remember his name.

"Yeah, that's right…" He fumbled with his things, idly twirling his pencil between his dainty hands, and gulped. "Say, uh, Waylon…"

"Hm?" He blinked, looking up, and Billy jumped.

"Never mind, sorry, I just…" He coughed, turning away a little, and Waylon blinked.

_Oh, don't tell me I did something wrong!_

Just when he was about to ask, he heard a voice. "Waylon!" He turned, eyes becoming as wide as dinner plates when Lisa entered, sitting next to him. "Is it okay if I sit here?" They were only separated by a few inches, at different tables, and he suddenly cursed Billy for sitting next to him.

"Uh…sure." He gulped, willing his heart rate to slow.

"You certainly are becoming popular, _Waylon_…" That drawl made Waylon's blood freeze.

_Fuck!_

Eddie stood before the set of desks, his eyes…cold.

He was looking rather intently at Lisa, taking in her face, her hair, everything about her, down to her purse. She shifted nervously under his gaze, her jaw visibly clenching a little. "Hi Eddie." She smiled nonetheless, braving it out, and raised her hand in peace. His face was a terrifyingly expressionless void.

"Good afternoon, Lisa." His tone was clipped, his lisp peaking through rather strongly, and his shoulders were hunched a little. "Do you mind if I sit beside you?"

"No! Go right ahead." She moved to the side a little, giving him space, and Waylon realized the only thing that separated him from his stalker, was his crush.

_I should offer to trade seats…She shouldn't have to sit next to him. It's me he wants, damnit!_

The bell screeched as he opened his mouth, the teacher appearing. "Get comfortable kids!" He groused, sliding in behind his desk, "because these seats are going to be yours for the rest of the year!"

_You've __**got**__ to be __**kidding**__ me!_

Billy blinked, looking at Waylon, before blushing hard. "I'm sorry; did you want to sit next to someone else?" He looked hurt, and the computer tech quickly held up his hands.

"No! I bet you'll be a great partner!" He assured the boy, wanting to keep his teeth in his skull (not only that, but he really, **really** didn't want to see him cry – he was too damn cute). He glanced at Lisa though, frowning.

_But I bet you would have been even better…_

But she was smiling at him, her eyes gleaming with kindness, and he realized that she was impressed with him. She liked nice guys. She didn't like assholes like Blaire who flaunted their money, who could buy her anything she wanted, and took her out to nice places. She liked guys like him. His heart skipped a beat…And then proceeded to jump in his throat. While Lisa looked thoroughly impressed by his display of compassion, Eddie was ready to murder.

If looks could kill, Waylon was sure Billy would be dead before he hit the floor. His shoulders were hunched; eyes a maelstrom of the deepest blue, and his nails were digging **into** the desk, scratching its surface, making the edges of them bleed. The snarl had also returned – with a vengeance, twisting his handsome features into the mask of a monster.

Monster…was that really the best way to describe it?

W-M

Was it wrong that his favorite period of the day was third? A fifty minute study hall where they reported to their home room teachers, then – hall pass in hand – could go wherever they wanted.

_I guess this place isn't so bad, an hour off to do what you need to…_

He wasn't even finished with the day and already he had homework. Their art teacher, Mr. Baker, had assigned them to write a one page essay (not double spaced) on an artist. He'd gotten Michelangelo… He'd reported to Dr. Trager – he cringed when he realized he was his home room teacher – and practically ran to the library. Waylon stepped inside and immediately stopped in the doorway.

It was enormous, spanning all the walls, with shelves in between, and the librarian sat at the heart of it all behind a circular desk. On either side of her, a few yards back, there were staircases leading up to a second floor. "Wow…" He stepped over to the directory before the desk, revealing the floor plans, and alphabetized columns of shelves.

There were even two computer labs! He glanced over to where it was, only a few yards to the right on the wall; finding a wall length window, and kids chatting inside, on Youtube, Facebook, and an assortment of sights that were in no way school related. He turned his attention back to the directory. The second one on the floor above was further in…Maybe it had less people?

He scaled the stairs, finding the upstairs to be far grander, with the shelves reaching practically to the twelve foot ceiling. Waylon tip toed down between the bookcases, finding that the far left wall – which was hidden behind a rather long shelf – was covered in windows (when it wasn't sharing its space with more books) and tables for kids to sit at. But no one was up here.

He walked a little faster, a little louder, and was almost jogging by the time he'd reached the back of the maze of shelves. The second computer lab door was practically hidden; placed in a corner, and surrounded by more cases. He slipped inside, the door swinging open without a sound, and smiled.

No one, the coast was clear…

The desks were long rows of wood, five in all, covered on the front, and each computer had a roll chair. The lights for the last three rows were off – for whatever reason – and only the first two were highlighted in florescent light. Waylon took a seat in the middle of the third row, booting up the screen, and glanced at the clock. He had thirty minutes left. Baker had said they'd need two book sources and at least one online if they so chose. He grimaced.

Something told him that the art teacher wasn't a big fan of the web. Waylon randomly typed in a timeline of the painter's life, scrolling through a random assortment of sites, and sighed. The tech selected a random site, his eyes drooping, and he was sure he dozed off. He wasn't sure how long, or was he? His eyes snapped open and he shook his head viciously.

_What the hell? First day of school and you're already sleeping? Get a grip Waylon!_

He glanced at the clock. Ten minutes left… He opened up his notepad, writing down the page's URL, and grumbled. He blinked when his pencil snapped, frowning, and reached for his bag to grab a case of lead from the front pocket.

The computer tech fumbled though, leaning to the side too far, and almost face-planted onto the floor, barely catching himself on his elbows. His chair smacked the wall of the fourth row, hitting it so hard it rebounded, and rolled back to gently hit his side. He blushed, relieved no one was there to see his blunder, and pushed himself up a little when the door opened.

Waylon stayed where he was, eyes widening, and slowly lowered himself back to the ground. He peeked through the small gap between the front of the desk and the floor, his eyes darting between the chairs and the few long rows ahead. His breath hitched. He saw those boots, and the beginnings of the dress pants that went with them.

_It can't be…_

"Darling?" Sure enough, Eddie's voice rang out, strained, and with that little lisp. He sounded…irritated. Waylon gulped, sliding on his stomach as quietly as possible, and hunkered under the desk when he heard those tell-tale footfalls across the floor. He grabbed his bag, zipping in closed with a wince, and hugged it to his chest. Gluskin walked to the fourth row, looking down it, and scowled.

_What the hell is his problem?!_

Waylon crawled, like some five-year-old to the end of his row, closest the door, and thought of an exit strategy. He wasn't leaving, Eddie was now pacing the room, looking down the rows, and getting angrier by the second.

_Think Waylon, think! First fucking day of school and you've got a stalker!_

The computer nerd inhaled sharply as Eddie made his way closer to the third row, his pupils dilated, and his shoulders squared, tense…As if he were a spring that was being wound tighter and tighter. He could make a break for it, he realized, and chance the maze of a library outside.

_I'm a fucking coward…_

What he should do is lay in wait and charge Gluskin, what his **father** would do was get the jump before he was jumped on. He knew he should at least **try** to get a few good punches in, before Eddie beat him to a pulp on the floor.

Because that was the worst he could do, right? Right…So why was he sitting here like a pansy, waiting to get wailed on? Truth be told, Waylon was not a big fan of violence. In fact, the only time he enjoyed fighting was in video games and action movies, and sometimes even then he thought it was a little extreme.

At his old school, he was no stranger to the occasional pain of being shoved into a wall, or even the 'ol one-two-to-the-face deal. He could handle those things and turn the other cheek. At least Buddha would be proud of him! Or was it Gandhi that said that?

He remembered still the look on his father's face when he'd come home from school and told his parents about it. His mother had called and it had at least not happened as **often** and nowhere near the extreme as the first time. His father on the other hand – who used to be the best boxer in the junior state championship – had been only what could be described as…ashamed.

His eyes drifted to Eddie, his heart pounding in his ears, and chest hurting from lack of oxygen…He was afraid to even **breathe** too loudly!

Something about Eddie was different than any other bully that Waylon had the 'pleasure' of meeting. He reeked of violence, the way his eyes were so cold and harsh, his broad form, and even stronger arms. But he was different in other ways too, with his suave voice, and the way he baited Waylon. Darling? That was a new one, so far out of the water from what he'd been expecting. Fag? Whatever. Piece of shit? Been there. Garbage eating piss-covered coward? Nice vocabulary, also new, but this was just **weird**!

He was the type of guy that girls would love to date, love to have wrapped around their finger, but he was also the one they were afraid of. He was the bad-boy that they wanted to change but Waylon knew deep down, just looking at him, that there was no changing him.

Was there?

His mother had always said that no one was beyond redemption, that everyone deserved a second chance, and he'd never doubted her. Now, looking at Eddie, he wasn't so sure…

"You're going to make me work for it, aren't you, you little **minx**." He rasped, and Waylon's eyes widened, his heart leaping in his throat…He was standing directly behind him. He could just imagine the curve of his lips, the narrow cut of his pale blue eyes, and the sharp edges of his teeth. His knee knocked the back of the desk, shocking the tech, and making him jump.

_This can't be happening, go away…Go away._

Eddie paused, pacing to the other side of the room, and Waylon knew…

_This is my chance…I've got to go… NOW!_

He jerked out from under the desk, sending the rolling chair spiraling back, and hit his knee. The pain stalled his senses, the world ringing for a moment, and then he heard the resonating _clatter_ of another chair. Eddie was on the move. Suddenly, he felt like an antelope running from a lion, wounded on the savannah. But the stakes weren't the same; he wasn't going to be devoured…was he?

Waylon gritted his teeth, taking off on his other leg, the one that wasn't throbbing bloody murder, and lurched towards the door. The handle felt cool against his clammy palm and he twisted it so hard his wrist popped. It slammed into the drywall, denting the handle, and leaving a hole in the plaster. His mind was a blur as he dashed to the left, the thunder of footsteps hot on his heels, and he dodged to the right, left, forward, leaping in between the space under a table by the windows.

"You don't have to run from me; I only want to love you!"

_**What**__ the __**fuck**__?!_

The tech stayed under the table, sliding away from the light till his back hit the cement wall. He could see the afternoon sun streaming from the windows, putting out a thick layer of white, and thankfully blanketing most of the underside of the table in darkness. Cold sweat trickled down his brow, tickling his temple, and he gulped hard.

There it was…The stairwell. Waylon could see it between two shelves, almost directly in front of him, but…They also had an opening on the other side. It was like a long tunnel leading to sanctuary, but with two doors on either side that could spew forth the very monster he was trying to evade.

_There I go again, thinking of him as a monster. What is wrong with me? What's wrong with __**him**__?_

He had serious issues, that was all he **needed** to know.

_I've got to make a break for it._

The bell would ring in probably less than five minutes! Could he wait him out? Would he leave if it rang and try to catch him another day?

"Darling, there really is no need for this." He heard the _clack _of his boot as he rounded the corner, appearing right before Waylon's table. "Could you be the one?" The computer tech had no idea what he was talking about, but it escalated to all new levels of creepy. Then, he heard something, the noise finally registering in his head. _Click, click, click…_ His jaw clenched, inching forward just a little to see what the other was doing that was –

A knife. It was a switchblade to be exact, the black handle cool and sleek in the hand of the young man, who played with its trigger like a toy. The silver edge gleamed, sharp and deadly in the light of the sun, and it blinded Waylon for a moment.

_Isn't it illegal to bring a weapon to school?!_

It was sharp, the handle encompassed in Eddie's hand, and the blade was at least six inches long, more than enough to do serious damage. He shuddered, pushing himself tightly under the table, and clutched his book bag for dear life. That blade must have been freshly sharpened, polished even from the sight of the obsidian grip. His breathing was becoming erratic, blood roaring in his ears to the _tap_ of Eddie's boots. They were steel plated.

He'd felt the crushing force of shoes like those before, breaking his teeth, and giving him two black eyes. His ribs on the right side had all been cracked or broken…He'd never known pain like that. It had taken the dentists' weeks to repair his mouth and the doctor's longer to fix him in surgery…

This was insane, he had to be dreaming, that's right, any second now he was going to wake back up in the computer lab and find that Eddie Gluskin hadn't stalked him into the library to flay him alive…

_RING! RING! RING!_

Eddie stopped, his form tensing a little, the blade stopping in once sheathed, and heaved a deep sigh. "I'm not giving up on you; I know you're worth it…" He murmured, as if knowing Waylon was close enough to hear him, and then calmly collected his things on the railing of the stairwell and departed…cool, calm, completely collected.

The computer tech sat there, paralyzed with fright, and slowly crawled free of the space. He nearly collapsed all over again when he finally found his feet, gulping, and his heart pounding in his ears. He ran a tacky hand through his hair, tears almost forming, but bit his lip to suppress them.

"Pull it together! You're alright…" He assured himself, but a nagging doubt plagued his mind.

_For how long?_

W-E

The cafeteria was also huge, with several food lines, and booths. They even let kids eat outside at picnic tables under an overhang, so you could go out even when it rained, and some guys played football in the courtyard after they ate. The basketball court was even open, and he wasn't surprised to look through the window to find Blaire scoring hoop shots like a pro. He had first lunch…He wondered if Eddie did too. He shuddered.

"Yo, Waylon!" He felt an arm wrap around his neck, his head turning to find –

"Miles!" The computer tech welcomed the warmth of his smile and even the crushing force of the muscles around his neck. "I'm so glad to see you."

The reporter paused, taking in his face, and his brow furrowed. "What the hell happened to you? You look like you've seen the school ghost or something…"

"School ghost?" Despite being a firm believer in technology, Waylon had a fear of anything supernatural – ghosts especially. His stupid cousin just **had** to play with that Ouija board in the basement…

"Yeah, but we can talk about that later. What the hell happened to you?" He frowned, voice having dropped to a whisper.

"Eddie...He…He followed me when I went to the library, I went to the second floor and – "

"Woah, second floor of the library?" Miles's eyes narrowed. "Dude, that's like where everybody sees the ghost, not to mention it's like rape central up there. Not really," he laughed when Waylon's eyes widened, "but it's the perfect place to get jumped. It's like a maze up there; the layout doesn't even really fit the directory. It changes every couple months."

"Every few months?" Waylon's brow furrowed. Miles nodded.

"Yeah, the school doesn't do anything about it, supposedly it's been happening since the place opened. They tried fixing it, but no matter what they do it always shifts and changes." The computer tech wasn't sure how true that was, but he saw no point in arguing it. "Anyway, what happened with Gluskin?"

Waylon gulped. "He followed me when I was in the computer lab. I dozed off and when I woke up he came in." He left out the tiny part where he'd nearly face planted getting pencil lead. "I got under the computer desk to hide, then I managed to get out of the computer lab, and I ran trying to lose him. I hid under a table and he…he had a switchblade with him Miles. I got really scared. Thankfully, the bell rang and he left…"

"What did he say?" The reporter didn't seem shocked when he'd told him he had a knife, however…

"He kept calling me 'Darling' and saying I didn't have to hide from him because he only wanted to 'love me', and he said he wouldn't give up on me because he knew I was 'worth it'." Waylon shuddered, the other's voice washing over him as he repeated what he'd said. Miles's eyes were wide.

"That's…" He leaned back, rubbing his neck. "That's really bad man. But I don't know what to tell you, even the teachers around here are afraid of Eddie. I hear his home life is shit though, I swear, something must have happened to him."

"What do you mean?"

Miles bit his lip and sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets, and looked at the floor. "When we were in elementary school…We had nap time once, and I slept next to Eddie. Mind you, this was before he was a psycho; he used to be really quiet and shy." He shook his head, turning his gaze on him again. "He muttered stuff in his sleep…Like, asking his dad not to hurt him and stuff. I'm telling you Way, there's some F'd up shit that's probably happened to him." Waylon's eyes widened.

"You think Eddie was abused?" He frowned; trying to picture a child Gluskin…He got a surprisingly cute image. But, why would anyone hit a child? Especially their own?

"I think so…Not sure about now though." Miles shrugged. "Ah, whatever, I'll protect you from creepy-psycho!" He threw his arm around his shoulders again, and Waylon gagged when he'd virtually hit him in the throat.

"Oh, would you look at that." He grinned, that grin that Waylon already knew meant several things: trouble, mischief, and hilarity that would embarrass him. "Chris! Chris Walker!" He called, completely ignorant to everyone else, and the computer tech's jaw hit the floor when he saw the colossal student turn to look at the reporter.

He was at least six foot five, towering even over Gregory, with a bald head, piercing blue eyes, strong jaw, and a bit of a gut. But that didn't draw attention away from the bulging muscles of his biceps, or the meaty hands that looked like clubs. He wore a tight black shirt that was tucked into a pair of blue jeans with a black belt, and thick combat boots. His eyes narrowed dangerously on Miles.

Waylon gulped hard, grabbing his friend, and turned him around in an attempt to silence him. He didn't even feel humiliation at the stares they were getting, he just wanted to stay alive, and maybe keep Miles that way. "Is there something wrong with you?!" He hissed, eyes darting to the mountain of a 'teen', before returning to Miles. "Do you want to end up paste on the wall?!" While Miles was in no way short, or physically unfit, in fact, he had a pretty good built – this guy was a football player. A huge one.

"Relax man, me and Chris go way back!" He smiled, giddy, and turned back around…To find Walker was right on top of them. Waylon let out a yelp, virtually hiding behind the reporter, and wondered how in the flying hell he had moved so quickly over to them. "Nice footwork big guy, mind if I ask you a few ques –"

"No." Walker growled, his voice deep in his barrel chest, and the computer tech jumped at just the sound of it. He sounded more animal than human. "Close your mouth and stop making a fool of me, or I'll close it for you, Upshur." His paws clenched, the twist of them sounding in Waylon's ear, and he had to fight the urge to run.

"Come on, just a few lines for the paper." He opened his arms, that playful look still in his eyes, and grinned. Walker was not amused.

"And I'm going to tell you, just like every year before this: Piss. Off." He continued to growl, those eyes reminding Waylon of Eddie's with their murderous glint.

"You know I never take 'no' for an answer, Chris." Miles's cheek was starting to wear on the other's nerves, the computer tech could tell.

"You little motherfucker." Walker hissed, veins bulging along his arms as he strained to control himself, and snarled at him.

"Careful, you'll give me a complex." The reporter smirked, matching Chris's stride. "People might start to talk…" That set him off. With a roaring bellow, Walker swiped at Miles, and Waylon was shoved backwards. He barely saw it happen, one second the reporter was in front of him, before the football player, and the next he was behind him, jumping over a table and putting some distance between them. Clearly, there was some unresolved tension here…

"Miles!" He yelled, fearing the other would do something even stupider than taunting the humanoid Godzilla into smashing him into dust. But he seemed to know he couldn't hope to bring Chris down, and stayed on the other side of the table, far out of the other's reach. The cafeteria erupted into whoops and whistles, calling for more, but it seemed that fate wanted to cut the fun short.

"There a problem here buck-a-roos?" Richard Trager stood in the large entryway of the room, leaning on the doorframe, and with his lean arms crossed. "I'd hate to think you boys would cause problems on the first day back." He smiled, walking in, holding his hands up. "It ain't even homecoming yet, ya know, the whole schmoozing-and-boozing deal, and you kids are already trying to take cracks at one another!" He was dwarfed by Walker, but didn't seem the least bit intimidated. "After all, it'd be bad for you to get another tally mark on that rap sheet of yours, eh, Chrisy-boy?"

The football player gritted his teeth, his animosity now redirected on the teacher, and managed a: "no sir." The 'doctor' turned his attention on the reporter next, who had his foot on a chair and was leaning on it, his signature smirk in place. He grinned when Trager looked his way.

"What's up doc?" A few chuckles broke loose, the older man sighing in defeat.

"You're going to be trouble this year Upshur, I can already tell."

"You can count on it, **Doctor**." He emphasized that word again, his brown eyes highlighted in green, and Waylon almost got the feeling that he was flirting. Was he?! He was so dense, he didn't even notice before the downright sultry look he was giving him. He really, really, **really** had trouble finding the appeal in Trager though.

He stuck his tongue out in disgust, standing from the floor, and finally noticed Blaire. The basketball ace had walked in with his friends shortly after Trager had, the ball under his arm, and his eyes shooting daggers at Miles's head. Waylon gulped, the tension in the room reaching whole new levels.

_What's Jeremy's problem? Has Miles really alienated all these people?!_

Chris Walker looked disgusted by the display, taking a backseat to the little drama, and the teacher stuck his hands in his pockets. "Alright, you kiddies get back to lunch, you've only got twenty minutes left, I suggest you gobble up!" He turned, half facing the door, and his eyes darted. Trager smiled, his eyes closing behind those circular, wire glasses, and disappeared out the door with a _whoosh._ Waylon followed his gaze, but whoever he'd been looking at was gone.

_What the hell?_

Walker bumped past him, virtually sending him sprawling into a table, and he was lucky that Miles – having moved over quickly – had grabbed his wrist to keep him from falling. He glared at his friend. "What the hell was that?!" He snapped before he could stop himself as Chris stalked off; steam virtually rising off his head, and veins standing out against his thick skin.

"Ah, nothing…Just a little fun." He shrugged.

"A little fun? I nearly got swatted like a fly by the beer-gut Hulk and you're leaping around like a fairy! Damnit Miles!" But the reporter was laughing at him, grinning in mirth, and with a light in his eyes – as always. He glared at him, before sighing, seeing it as pointless. "Come on, I'm starving…"

W-M

Lunch had been amazing, with nice pizza, actual fruit, and the milk was organic – not that such a fact was important to him, but his mother would be proud – and a good portion of desert. Math class was supposed to be his easiest class, being a computer nut and all, but that wasn't the case. He split up with Miles in the hallway and found himself sitting next to none other than Jeremy Blaire.

_Goddamnit…_

This was not a good day for him. He didn't know why the model perfect teen was sitting next to him, but he knew better than to question it. Their teacher entered and everything went smoothly, they barely spoke a word to each other, and he wondered if his pretty boy pissy attitude was all a front. No, that couldn't be the case, he should be tearing him a new one, his buddies were watching from the back of the class. What was his game?

"What's the deal with you and Upshur?" He growled, not doing his work, and stared him down hard. Waylon blinked.

"What?" He frowned now, brow furrowing.

"Why are you hanging out with him?" He snapped, idly rolling his pencil on the desk, and the computer tech gulped.

"Well, you yourself didn't exactly roll out the red carpet, Blaire." He grumbled, careful of what he said, but he was throwing caution to the wind with this one.

"Watch yourself Park." He snarled, his handsome face twisting like a gargoyle's.

_Damn, is it just me, or do some of the guys around here look like real monsters when they want to?_

"He's nice, in his own way…" He kept his voice low, evading the other's eye, and went on working.

"And a pain in the ass, you mean." The basketball player sneered.

"What's your problem with him? I mean, I get hating me, I'm a nerd and you're an athlete, whatever…But what's wrong with Miles? Did he write a bad story on you in the paper or something, the gossip column?" His brow furrowed and Blaire's lips twitched like he'd like to make another ugly face.

"Never mind." He went about subtly copying Waylon's work, not that he cared, let him do what he wanted. But still, it nagged at him…

_Why does he dislike Miles?_

W-J

Waylon sat in the back of the room come social studies, hugging the right wall, and sighed.

_Two more periods, two more, that's all! Hopefully, Gluskin won't be in either one!_

"I'm sitting here." A **thump** sounded right next to him and his eyes widened like plates. He slowly, ever so slowly, turned his head to his left.

_Why?! Why, damnit, why me?!_

Chris Walker was sitting next to him, taking up more than his fair share of the other half, and put his elbows on the table. He was invading Waylon's personal space and he was wondering if he shouldn't go sit somewhere else. The football player could easily take up an entire table by **himself**. But, that would be insulting, and as far as the other knew, he could seriously hurt his feelings by leaving.

_Wait, does he even have any? I mean…He seems like a stone._

Except for the anger he had displayed in the cafeteria, he seemed pretty free of emotion, almost like the twins. "Uh…If you don't mind me asking…" He started, instantly stopping when Walker turned his cutting blue eyes on him. Maybe he was too quick to think 'emotionless', his eyes seemed maniac enough. "Why are you sitting here…With me?"

Walker grunted. "I need to talk to you." And that was all he got.

"Oh, hi Waylon!" Lisa walked in, stopping his heart rate, and his eyes widened.

_Damnit, damnit, damnit! Of course she'd have this class, and Chris just had to sit here!_

"Hi Lisa…" He waved like the idiot he was, smiled like one too, and he heard Walker give a snort. Was he really that obvious? The bell rang and the teacher started to lecture. They were starting on the Renaissance, well; at least he was getting to the interesting stuff first. He felt Chris jab him, hard, in his side, and quietly hissed.

He turned to look at him as he slid a paper at him.

**_You're Upshur's friend, right?_**

Waylon gulped.

**_Yeah._**

Chris's eyes narrowed and the computer tech inwardly cringed.

**_Tell him to stay the hell away from me or I'll knock his block off._**

Waylon sighed.

**_I'll see what I can do; I'm sorry by the way…For what happened at lunch. He really has a mind of his own._**

Chris grunted quietly.

**_Like I don't already know that._**

Waylon frowned, brow furrowing.

**_If you don't mind me asking, why does he bother you?_**

Chris sighed, the noise strained through his nose, and grumbled. He scrawled down a reply though, in his sloppy, small script.

**_He wants to get an interview with me for the fucking paper, like I know why. He doesn't do it to any of the other players, just me. Little pig. I swear, I'm going to rip his head off._**

He chose an interesting form of insulting Miles, he'd give him that.

**_Pig? Nah, I'd compare Miles more to a puppy with too much energy._**

Chris stared at the note for a moment, and then quietly chuckled, leaving Waylon to exhale a sigh of relief, smiling himself.

**_Little pup then…Still going to rip his head off._**

Waylon cringed at that.

**_Just for an interview?_**

Chris frowned.

**_No. He's just a pestering asshole._**

The computer tech wrote down some notes, abandoning the conversation till they had ten minutes left in the period.

**_I know he's a little annoying, but I don't think that's all. Has he done anything else to you?_**

Walker growled, low and dangerous in his chest, and some people cast glances back to their desk. They gave Waylon encouraging or pitying glances, before returning to their own work.

**_I don't like to talk about it…_**

Waylon nodded in understanding, but his curiosity was piqued.

_What did you do now, Miles?_

W-C

Waylon had never been a fan of English, but he realized its necessity. The computer tech sat near the back, as always, eagerly awaiting the end of the day. So far, he'd been able to evade Eddie's clutches in only a few classes – not counting the escapade in study hall – and his day was nearly complete. He was going to be home free!

But fate, he learned, was a funny, fickle, cruel bitch that liked to watch him squirm.

The tailored teen walked into the room, spotted him, the seat next to him empty, and immediately waltzed right over to plop into the seat next to him. He entered panic mode in the ten seconds it took him to sit next to him. His heart hammered blood in his ears, breath hitching, and his hands became clammy. Instead of feeling comfortably warm, he was chilled to the bone, and his hands clutched the arms of his stained jacket.

_I was so close!_

He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing his luck, and promptly realized he didn't **have** any luck. He was screwed. His knee throbbed as a reminder of the morning, the young man beside him oblivious or ignoring his state of distress, and he wasn't sure what to do. "Hello Waylon, you remember me I hope. Eddie, Eddie Gluskin?" He spoke first, thankfully.

_How could I forget you crazy bastard?_

"Uh, yeah…That's right. We have Chemistry and Art together in the morning." He steadied his voice, gritting his teeth between breaths, and forced himself to calm down.

_What's up with him? Is he going to pretend the library didn't happen?_

"Yes, more than enough I think for us to get to know each other."

_What?_

"You know, I was wondering if I might ask you to have a cup of coffee with me this Saturday? My treat." He put his hand over his chest, the perfect gentleman, and Waylon felt his tongue inflate in his skull and dry out. At this point, he'd rather be at a long table between the twins, and be smacked around twenty times by Chris Walker.

"I – I…" The bell rang, saving him from answering, and the teacher quickly entered to start the lesson. Eddie looked irritated, his eyes narrowing, and lip twitching in a scowl…But he suppressed it and Waylon breathed a sigh of relief. Their teacher started writing on the board, doing a little introduction, and told them that their first lesson would be over: Pathos, Logos, and Ethos.

While he did that the boy beside him took out a metallic pencil case from his…bag? Waylon frowned. It resembled a satchel, stitched together by what looked like a professional, and the cloth blended well to make it look intentional…But he knew it wasn't. Something about it just wasn't right. Eddie opened the container, revealing a plethora of colored pencils, and his brow furrowed.

_What the hell?_

Eddie was a diligent note taker, Waylon noticed, writing down everything word-for-word dexterously, and never once erased. His writing was neat and flourished, like a gothic century poet. When he wasn't taking notes, which was most of the time, he was flipping open a sketchbook.

_Huh…Why didn't I notice that before?_

It was a big black thing with a spiral edge, several pages marked with bright tags, blue, red, and purple. He chanced a peak at what the other was working on. It looked to be an oriental-like dress, a beautiful shade of crimson with midnight blue flowers, there were no sleeves, and the neck line plunged a little – but not enough to be deemed 'slutty'.

_That looks…Really nice._

Eddie stopped for a moment, pausing, and Waylon blinked. Then he looked up…Gluskin was looking at him with raised brows. He gulped, quickly averting his gaze, and started scrawling down notes that he didn't really need. He heard Eddie give a quiet (somewhat creepy) chuckle and frowned, his face heating up.

_Damnit Waylon, mind your own business._

Midway through class he heard a low tune, everyone was working on a small assignment that wouldn't take even an hour to finish, but they had till Thursday to turn in. It was low, foggy in his focused mind where everything ceased to exist but him and what he had to do.

"_When I was a boy my mother often said to me,_

_Get married boy and see how happy you will be,_

_I have looked all over, but no girlie can I find…"_

It sounded good, whoever was singing that old song knew what they were doing, and before he could stop himself:

"Who seems to be just like the little girl I have in mind,

I will have to look around until the right one I have found…"

Waylon finished, his mind making his mouth work the lyrics he didn't even know he was saying, and while he wasn't very good at singing, he knew how to at least carry a tune. He didn't stop working till he realized that the whole room had gone dead silent. The computer tech frowned, brow furrowing, and blinked. Everyone was staring at him as if he'd morphed into Chris Walker in a tutu.

He turned his head, taken aback by what he saw. Eddie was staring at him with some sort of wonder in his deep blue eyes, completely frozen in shock it seemed, same as everyone else. His mouth was opened slightly, and it took Waylon a moment to realize. Eddie…Eddie had been the one who was singing. And he'd sung right along with him.

His face turned red, eyes finding his paper again, and he glued them there for the rest of the period. The time passed by quicker than he thought it would; it felt like no time at all before he was packing up his stuff. He chanced a glance at Eddie, the gentleman teen packing up his things neatly in his 'satchel'. "So…" His suave voice made Waylon cringe. "You never did answer me about that coffee."

He gulped. "No, I'm afraid I…I work on weekends, and sometimes on the weekdays. Not to mention, I still have some unpacking to do, and chores! Yeah..." Waylon didn't look at his face, sloppily shoving things in, and froze when something slapped down on his side of the desk.

"I believe that's yours." Gluskin's voice betrayed nothing, the room cleared – when had everyone left? – and silent except for his voice. His back was to the tech, form poised in the doorway, taking all of it up, and one of his hands was jammed into his pocket, the other holding his bag on his shoulder. Waylon took the notebook, shoving it into his pack without a second thought, and headed for the door. He stayed at least five feet behind Eddie, his jaw clenching, aware of the knife in his pocket.

"You're….You're blocking the door." Eddie finally glanced back at him, feigning being lost in thought.

"Oh, am I? I'm sorry…" He side-stepped, allowing the leaner boy to squeeze by, and Waylon got the funny feeling he wanted to pin him to the wall. He quickly left though, virtually sprinting down the hall, and practically leaped down the stairwell…

W-E

"It's him."

"Gluskin's new prey?"

"I believe so."

"Should we intervene?"

"I think not."

"Oh?"

"It would not be our place."

"Perhaps not."

Gregory started this round, sitting beneath the wide branches of the oak, and a corner of the school's mighty walls. No one could see the roost he and his twin took, Billy in his lap, his head resting on his chest, listening to the steady drum of his heart. One of his massive arms circled the boy's waist, the other idly stroking his hair, and hummed in acknowledgement.

Aden, on the other hand, stood leaning on the tree, his arms crossed.

"Walker will be angry if we're late." The haired twin's eyes slowly lowered from the retreating tech – who was now in the grasp of the flamboyant reporter – to his brother.

"Disturbing him feels impolite." Gregory responded, pausing in his petting of Billy, and the other nodded.

"I feel the same." His fingers intertwined with his brother's, stroking the now dry blonde locks that curled around the boy's features.

A-G

"So..." Miles dragged out the word on his tongue. "How was your first day?"

Waylon grumbled unhappily beside him. "Total. Shit." He hissed, fishing his car keys out, the beep of the automobile like music to his ears. The reporter let out a high pitched wolf whistle.

"Damn…That's **your** car?!" The computer tech frowned.

"Yeah…"

"Mind if I bum a ride?" Miles gave that grin and Waylon knew he couldn't say no.

"Sure, hop in…"

The reporter gave a whoop and jumped in without hesitation, putting the seat all the way back, and slipping on a pair of shades to boot. Waylon shook his head with a chuckle. The drive to his house was mostly quiet till:

"Are you going to tell me why you know Eddie Psycho Gluskin's theme song, or what?" He almost floored the brakes and bit his tongue, inhaling sharply.

"News travels fast…" He whispered, halting at a red light.

"Well yeah, I mean, come on man, someone starts playing the heart strings of everybody's favorite coo-coo-for-coco-coco-puffs weirdo, it's going to spread like wildfire." Waylon cringed.

"It's just an old song I've known since I was little. My grandpa used to sit on the porch and listen to it, said it was his and grandma's 'song'."

"Well, good luck shaking his attention now Way, you're saddled with that love-struck creep for life." The computer tech turned on him with wide eyes.

"What?!"

"Don't worry," Miles waved him off. "I'll protect ya. Pull over at this place, serves good ice cream." Waylon glared. "My treat!" He sighed and pulled in.

They grabbed a spot in the shade, the sun beginning to set at four thirty, and sat down with two splits. Waylon had several vanilla scoops murdered in cherries – making it look more like a mini crime scene – and Miles had a caramel, chocolate thing with vanilla. "Can I ask you something?" The computer nerd frowned and the reporter smirked.

"Fire away."

"What's up with you and Chris Walker?" Miles paused, which genuinely surprised Waylon…He usually didn't stop stuffing his face for anything from what he'd seen. He ate like a piranha at lunch, devouring anything in sight and didn't stop talking for manners sake. His face fell, not a scowl, but more like in defeat.

_Something definitely happened between them…_

"He just gets pissy with me because he doesn't want an interview, he's the star of the football team, and the guy won't say five words for the paper." He shrugged it off, answering in an offended, kind of indifferent way, but Waylon wasn't an idiot.

_We __**are**__ just new made friends…I can't expect him to share all the ghosts in his closet after day one. Maybe he'll tell me after I gain his trust?_

New friends or not, his change in attitude worried Waylon. What had happened between them? But there was something else…

"Another thing, does Blaire have it out for you or something?" Miles's brow furrowed, a frown forming on his ice cream stained lips.

"Not that I know of, we don't really talk." Now that was an honest response, mouth full and all. "Why?"

Waylon shrugged. "During math class he asked me why I'm hanging out with you. He seemed like he really had it out for you…For whatever reason." Miles's mouth pursed, but there was a light in his eye that the tech was just starting to identify.

"Sounds like a mystery, I'll do a little digging, see what I can't find." Waylon's eyes became half lidded.

"Wouldn't that just make him in the right for hating you?" He frowned.

"Not if he doesn't know I'm doing it! Besides, if he wants to make an enemy of me, than fine! I'll make damn sure I'm the worst one he's got!"

"Are you aiming to make Blaire your rival or something?" He smirked.

"Nope, I'm going to leave that to you."

"What?!" Miles laughed and Waylon grumbled. "That's not funny…"

W-M

"How was school honey?" His mother called from the kitchen, no doubt setting the table for dinner while dad cooked.

"It was fine!" He called, walking upstairs. "I'm going to rest for a little bit!" He knew she'd interrogate him about his first day over dinner, knowing the anticipation of waiting was something she loved.

His room was a fair size, painted a deep purple (it was kind of a nice color, he was honestly thinking of keeping it, it reminded him of the Decepticons from Transformers) with his bed in the corner of the right wall, right in front of the door. His desk was beside it under the window, and on the left wall at center was his TV, X-box 360, and DVD player. The closet was jammed into the corner, the door to it right beside the bedroom door itself.

He walked in, collapsing on his bed, and sighed heavily.

_I got a friend, a stalker, and a crush all in one day…I think I'll leave the middle and last one out when I talk to mom though..._

W-M

You guys…Have **no idea** how long it took me to write this. I think about a week of 2000 words a day, at least. Future chapters probably won't be this long, and I may even go back and edit this one, I'm not sure. Eddie's stalker-tendency seems a little too strong in this chapter I think, which is why I'm tempted to go back and change it. Perhaps make him slowly become this crazy? I'm beginning to think not though…

I want to stretch the story out and not reveal all of Eddie's past in one go, that would be too easy. And no, this isn't a Miles x Trager story. There are multiple pairings but that is not one of them. lol


End file.
